Looking Past the Reflection
by Alanna-of-Olau
Summary: formerly 'A New Life After a fire that claims Christine's life and scars her and Raoul's son, Raoul seems to be unable to face his son so his sister, CatherineOC, decides to take things into her own hands. Will be ErikOC. Finally Chapter Six!
1. Leaving an Old Life

Author's Note: This is my second fan ficiton. Please R&R.

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. Wait, Catherine and Philippe are mine, so plese ask before you use them. Thanks.

Catherine allowed the tears to flow freely, as her sister-in-law's coffin was lowered into her untimely grave. As she wept, she seemed to smell the sour soot of the fire that had destroyed her brother's family. Brother, how that word tasted bitter in her mouth. It was the fault of his stupidity that she had died and that his son, her nephew, would forever be shunned. If only he had not left that candle in the library, if only he had had enough courage to save them, and she was certain he could have. Though her tears had not even begun to subside, she glared at her brother accross from her. She could not feel pity for him, though Christine had been his wife. She was certain that if Christine had lived to see how he treated his own son, she would have left him. Phillippe, Raoul and Christine's son, had escaped the fire with his life, but had been so badly burned that there were few who would look at him, and much to her disgust Raoul had been one of the ones who refused to see him.

She still hadn't told the Viscout of her plan to leave, though she doubted he would object. As the funeral finally drew to a close, she walked over to the brother whom she had come to loathe. She, like he, gracefully accepted the sympathies of those who had come. At last they were the only two left, and in stifiling silence walked back to the carriage. She continued to shoot an accational glare at him, but chose not to speak until they neared the home which had formerly only been used during the summer. "Raoul, I wish to leave, and I'm taking Philippe with me." she stated, as calmly as though she were commenting on the weather. The shock was evident on his face, but as she had predicted, he did not protest that she would take Philippe but that SHE herself would leave.

"Catherine, why do you wish to leave me now in what may be my saddest hour? You are my sister, and yet you show no pity toward me, now that I have lost my wife and son."

Her anger flared out of control. "This is why I leave. You have not lost your son! He is still alive, and yet you ignore him! How it would hurt Christine to see how you treat her child now! I am leaving so that I may be rid of your presense. You sicken me! You, seemed to love your son, now turn your back on him when he needs you more than ever! I shudder to think what would happen were he lift in your care. That is why leave and that is why I am taking him with me. You no longer have the right to call him your son, and from this day on I will deny having ever been related to you!" She screamed at him. The shock was evident on his face, but she did not care. Angrily she stormed out of the carriage, and rushed through the entrance of what she could no longer consider to be her home. As she swept up the grand staircase toward Philippe's room, she finally stoped and calmed herself. She refused to let her anger show around Philippe. He had enough problems of his own without her adding her own.

Slowly she opened the door to the young boy's room, her eyes filling with a sorrow she could not stop. He was barely three years old, and his future had been taken from him. Though she, herself, could not be repulsed by her nephew, she knew most would be. Wasn't Raoul, the boy's own father evidence of that? Silently she entered the room which she felt was much darker than it needed to be. Disobeying Raoul's order that the curtains be drawn, she pulled them wide open to let some fresh air in. Philippe sat up on his small bed and smiled at her as best he could. She smiled back and granted his silent plea to pick him up. She began to talk softly to him, knowing that it would be years before he could understand why they were leaving.

Much to his disappointment, she sat him lightly on the bed so that she could pack, but she handed him a sweet so that he would not cry. Catherine knew that she could never fully understand how anyone could not love this sweet child, as her brother seemed to. As she finished packing Phillipe's things, she smiled at him, and closed the suitcase which shut with decisive click. Having packed and stored her things the night before, she lifted both the suit case and Philippe, and headed down the stairs of her family home for the last time. Almost to her disappointment, her brother had not even bothered to be there to say good-bye to his son. Rather than let that anger her, she simply let it help motivate her to leave as soon as possible. Without further pause, she strode toward the doors, pushed them open, and walked through letting them close behind her.

Unknown to her, Raoul was watching their departure through his study window. He almost went after them, but when he saw the burned remains of his son's face he could not bring himself to.

Catherine waited as the cariage she had ordered pulled up, and without further hestation, climbed in, and called to the driver "To the Opera Populaire."

Author's Note (again): I know the beginning is not great, but I would still love a review, even if it's only a couple of words. I will try to update soon. Flames will only be used to light the candles on my Chandelier. 


	2. The Arrival

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the original Phantom of the Opera characters, so please don't sue me. I do own Catherine and Philippe, so if you want to use them (and I don't know why you would) please ask me first.**

**Chapter 2 of A New Life**

As the carriage rolled down the congested streets of downtown Paris, Philippe amused Catherine by bouncing around the carriage and trying to peek out the windows. But as they pulled up in front of the newly rebuilt Opera House, she hushed him and asked that he stay in the carriage a little while longer. He was disappointed, but did as he was told.

Catherine walked over to the coachman, gave him whispered instructions to stay there, and made sure that he was well paid for doing so. Gracefully, she ascended the steps to the Opera house where she paused for but a moment before entering. Luck was with her, for Madame Giry was in the hall speaking to Meg. She walked up to the formidable woman, and politely waited for a break in the conversation.

In the end it was Meg who first noticed her presence and broke off the conversation. By this point Madame Giry had also noticed her and waited for her to speak.

"Good afternoon Madame and Mademoiselle Giry. Excuse me for interrupting, but I was wondering if one of you would be so kind as to watch Philippe while I went house shopping?" Catherine looked to the women hopefully. Madame Giry had been one of the only people who had seen Philippe since the fire, and so far had been the only one to not appear horrified.

Madame Giry seemed a little surprised, but recovered quickly enough to reply. "I would be happy to, but why do you need to buy a house and why is Philippe with you? Shouldn't he be with your brother?"

"My brother is a superficial idiot, who is incapable of being a fit parent, and I refuse to be in the same house as him or to see Philippe raised by such a fool." Catherine's bitterness was evident to any who heard her.

Rather than pry further Madame Giry simply nodded. "Finding a house in one day will be difficult, where will you stay if you do not find one right away"

Catherine shrugged. " We'll probably be staying in a hotel, until a suitable residence can be procured." Madame Giry shook her head.

"I do not think that that is a wise idea, given Philippe's condition."

"I agree with you, but I see no other option...."

"If you wish, the two of you may stay here, in one of the empty dormitory rooms, until you find a house."

Catherine shook her head "I would not wish to impose, and besides that space is probably needed by someone."

Madame Giry smiled at that last comment. "I assure you it would not be an imposition, and as to the space, we have more then enough. Please stay here. It would be better for Philippe to be in a place with people who can look at him." Catherine sighed and nodded.

Meg was surprised that her mother had made the offer, but simply smiled and asked for leave or else she would be late for practice. Shaking her head at her forgetfulness, Madame Giry excused her and told her tell the other teacher that they were in charge of the rehearsal sense she would be late, if she was able to come at all. While Meg hurried away, Madame Giry stepped out with Catherine to help with the luggage. Philippe ran out of the carriage to meet his aunt half way. Madame Giry smiled at the small boy, but as he looked at her she could not help but remember another boy who had a similar problem. She knew Catherine also knew of the other boy, man now, but would not say anything of him, or his opinion of a De Changy in his Opera house. Catherine had enough problems to deal with. She took one suitcase while Catherine took the other, and Philippe.

Catherine couldn't help but sigh. Philippe looked at her eyes filled with wonderment, which brought a smile to her face. She didn't know how she would ever be able to thank Madame Giry for this, but do matter what she had to do to repay her she would. A moment of happiness for Philippe was worth anything. They had just asscended the steps when Meg came rushing out to them. She seemed to be in shock. Her words started as barely audible but finished almost in a shriek, "Mother, the managers came to rehersal. The Opera House is going to close!"

Madame Giry froze, and Catherine turned pale. Catherine was the first to recover, and found herself questioning Meg. "Why?"  
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**Review Responses:**

**ButterflyOfLothlorien: Here's the update, and I tend to share your views of Raoul. Thanks for the review.**

**Flare Conlon: Thank you. I do plan on continuing to the end. Thank you again for the lovely compliment and the lovely review.**

**tomluver123: I will. Thanks for reviewing.**

**Mia: Thank you for the review. As to what Raoul's thought were and will be, will be revealed as time goes on.**

**IChooseTheScorpion: Thank you for the tip. I've tried to make them smaller now, but please tell me if you think they need to be shorter, and yes I agree Raoul is a bd.**

**Princess: Thank you.**

**AN: The end of another chapter. I know I should have posted sooner, I was planning to. Life got in the way. Hopefully the next update will be more punctual. Please Review. Flames will be used to light my chandelier.**

**AN 2: If you read this story earlier, I apologise. I uploaded the one one that hadn't been proofread yet by mistake.**


	3. The Opera House and an Unpleasent Surpri...

**Disclaimer: I do not own, any of the original characters, so please don't sue me. However, I do own Catherine and Philippe, so please ask me if you are going to use them (and why would you?).**

**Author's Note: Wow, this chapter came quick. It's my longest one so far. Yay! Review Responses are at the end. Without further ado, on with the story.**

Chapter 3

"Why?" The question hung in the air for minutes, but still no answer was forthcoming. Meg seemed unable to answer. Catherine asked again, this time with more power in her voice. "Why?"

Meg drew a shuddering breath, and replied, "The managers did not say, but one can only assume that it is due to a lack of funds." Catherine nodded, since the incident of 5 years before very few had been willing to become a patron for the 'cursed' opera house.

"Do you think that if more funds were offered that they might be able to keep it open?" Meg shook her head.

"I doubt that they would want to. They would probably want to sell it rather than take on a new patron." Meg sighed. The Opera house was everything to her. It was where she had grown up. It was where her friends were. It was her life.

Catherine could see the look on their faces. She knew this was their home, but not just theirs, it was the home to all the other dancers, singers, stable hands, and it was Christine's old home. Christine had been like a sister to her, and she had loved this place. She would never say that if Raoul was close enough to hear her, but she said it to Catherine often. She would not want to ever see this place close, so if it was in Catherine's power to keep it open, she would. Funds would not be a problem. Half of the De Changy fortune was hers by right.

"Philippe, could you stay with Madame Giry while I go talk to the managers?"

"Can't I go with you Auntie? Please." He gave her a small pleading look, but she could not give in right now.

"Not now, why don't you go cheer them up?" Philippe pouted a little, but then went to go do as he was told.

Catherine set her suitcase down, and once again entered the Opera house, but this time for a very different purpose. Remembering all that Christine had told her of the Opera house, she turned right, and came to a stop out side the door to the managers' office. She stopped and prepared herself, and knocked.

A short rather stocky man opened the door. Monsieur Andre gave her an odd look but let her in anyway. She was the fist to speak. "I hear you are planning on closing the Opera house."

They gave her another odd look, but this time Monsieur Firman responded. "Yes, tonight's performance shall be the last, but may I be so bold as to ask what business of yours this is?"

Catherine nodded. "Of course you may ask, and you're in luck because I will answer." They were rather flabbergasted, which caused her to smile. "I would like to purchase the Opera house. I am here because I would like to know the price."

If they were shocked before, they were even more so now. "Madame…"

"Mademoiselle"

"Mademoiselle, I really don't think this is a good idea. I mean this is a rather expensive purchase to make on your own, and besides it would be too much of a responsibility…."

Catherine shook her head at their foolishness. "I assure you I can handle the responsibility, as to the price, that is what I am inquiring about, although I am sure I could probably afford it. Please, gentleman think, you can sell me the Opera house or you could simply close it which would leave you with a loss of money. Now name your price."

This time they answered her, although somewhat unwillingly, "We shall not part with it for less than 150,000 francs." They thought the price would discourage her, even though it was only about half of what they paid. They were wrong.

"Done. If you gentleman will accompany me to the bank, I will happily pay you there."

Shock was evident on their features, and she could not quite suppress her smirk. "I will leave you to gather the necessary paperwork. In exactly one hour, I will meet you at the entrance, where we may further discuss any details. Gentleman, I will now take my leave." with that she turned, and walked out, knowing it could quite possibly take them the full hour for their brains to process what had just happened.

For the third time that day, she found herself just outside the entrance to the Opera house. Madame Giry seemed over her shock, but then again that could be because Philippe had grabbed her scarf and run off with it. Catherine tried not to smile, knowing it would only encourage him, but she couldn't help it. What happened next caused that smile to disappear.

------(should I just end the chapter there?)----  
------(no that would be mean)------------------

Philippe had run out toward the side walk, and one of the shoppers from the nearby market had started screaming when she saw him. Moving more quickly than she had ever moved in her life, Catherine ran down the steps and pulled Philippe to her.

"WHAT IS THAT THING?!" the woman's pitch made her ears want to bleed. She glared up at the woman who looked near hysterics. Her voice was deadly.

"I suggest you leave." The woman needed not second bidding and ran. Philippe was crying into his aunt's dress, scared by the woman. Catherine just held him, not knowing what to say. Philippe looked at her, with a desperate question in his eyes. The pain she saw there nearly killed her. She could understand the woman's screams. Philippe's skin was a deep red, almost black on much of his arms and face, not to mention the obious scars where the doctor had had to cut away some of the burnt flesh. The woman had seen what looked almost like a demon, but to Catherine he would always be her nephew, and an innocent little boy, who had no control over what he looked like as a result of that fire.

She knew she had to get Philippe inside quickly, people had already begun to gather. Scooping him up, she carried him into the entrance, stopping just long enough to make sure that Madame Giry was coming as well. She was.

Catherine was still holding Philippe, and Madame Giry had thought to grab the suitcases. (remember them? they were still there from chapter 1) They nearly flew down the first couple of corridors, but had slowed to a normal pace as they reached the dormitories. Madame Giry opened the door for her, and set the suitcases to the side, and then, sensing that Catherine needed time alone with Philippe, turned to leave. Catherine stopped her. "Would you please come back in a about 45 minutes?"

Madame Giry was puzzled but replied in the affirmative. Catherine continued to hold Philippe, gently rocking him, not knowing how to answer the question she could see coming. Thankfully it didn't come then as Philippe was too busy crying. She held him to her tightly. In an attempt to calm him down she began to sing, her voice was not great, but still she thought to calm him, and so sang the lullaby she had heard Christine sing to him many a time.

_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation_

_Darkness wakes and stirs imagination_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses_

_Helpless to resist the notes he writes_

_For he composed the Music of the Night_

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splender_

_Grasp it sense it tremulous and tender_

_Hearing is believing_

_Music is decieving_

_Hard as lightning_

_Soft as candlelight_

_I dared to trust the Music of the Night..._

She did not have to finish the song, for Philippe had already fallen asleep. She sighed, and lay him on the bed.

For the first time since she had entered, she looked around their new room. It was rather small, but comfortably furinshed. There was a dressor to the lift sid of the room, next to a window, that offered a view of the street below. There was the bed in one corner, and a desk and chair against the opposite wall. The only other thing of note in the room was a full length mirror with an ornate frame. This she stepped up to, in order to check her appearence. Her hair was nearly popping out of it's pins, and her dress was creased, and wet from where she had held Philippe while he cried.

She removed a dress from her suitcase, and put it on. Then stopped to brush and repin her hair. This time when she stopped to look in the mirror she appeared much more composed. Her dress was a warm forest green, that gathered at the waist, and then flaired out to accentuate her rather small waist, and there was gold beading on the bust. The neck line was rather modest, and it suited her. She attempted a smile into the mirror, but it looked fake even to her and her auburn hair had already begun to strain at the pins. She sighed and decided to wear it down. She sat at the desk and began to scetch the scene from outside her window, both to help her relax and gather her wits and to pass the time till Madame Giry would return.

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Review Responses:

ElvenStar5: Don't worry, I would never close the Opera Populaire, but I may get rid of La Carlotta we'll see. In the mean time, we'll let Raoul stay duck taped to that chair, shall we?

Flare Conlon: Thank you. Sorry, about the cliffie, but it was kinda fun.

tomluver123: Thank you for your review. I'm sorry for any spelling errors, I try to avoid them but.... If you see any, please tell me so I can fix them. I tried to make this chapter longer. It's 1570 words not countind Disclaimer, ANs and the like.

Rowin: Thank you, for the review, and you're right Raoul is a jerk, not that I'm helping his case any....

Healing Hands: I apologise, I did not know that my phic shared a name with you, and I have remeadied the situation, so that no one can confuse the two phics. Development will come with time. I'm fairly new to this. I tried to include some more discription in this chapter. I hope that this helps. Thanks for wishing me luck, the same to you.

Author's Note: I hope that ya'll find this chapter sufficient. Don't expect all my updates to be this quick. This will probably be my last update untill after finals. Please review. Criticisism is welcome. Flames will be used to light my chadelier.


	4. A Purchase and Old Times

**Disclaimer: See other chapters.**

**Chapter 4**

For the first time in months, she lost herself in her drawing, careful to sketch each detail. To her it seemed as if time had frozen, just leaving her with her drawing, but all too soon, there came a soft knock on the door. Setting her sketch where it wouldn't be bumped or seen, she went to the door and opened it.

Madame Giry was waiting at the door, and gave her a small nod. "Philippe is asleep, I take?"

"Yes, he is. Hopefully, I'll be back before he wakes up. This shouldn't take long." Madame Giry just nodded, took the recently occupied chair, and pulled out a book. Catherine stopped just long enough to glance at the mirror, something about it stood out, but she couldn't tell what just yet.

Catherine looked down the hall trying to discern which direction she had come from. Finally, she noticed a painting that she remembered passing to her right. She took that turn which, thankfully, was the correct one.

She stepped out into the entrance hall, and found that Monsieur's Andre and Firman were already waiting for her. She stepped up behind them and cleared her throat to get their attention. They looked rather surprised that she had been in the Opera house, but tried to mask it.

"Gentlemen, I must apologize for my tardiness."

"No, no you weren't tardy, we were early."

She nodded, "Alright, well lets attend to business then, shall we?" Catherine began walking toward the exit, knowing that they would follow. The two men hurried after her as though afraid of being left behind.

It wasn't until after she had reached the sidewalk that she had pulled Philippe from just an hour ago, that she stopped. Monsieur's Andre and Firman were out of breath when they reached her.

"Why did you take off like that Mademoiselle?"

"I'm sorry, but I believed that if we were to be doing business together, you would wish to know my name. However, that is information that would probably not be safe to mention where the Phantom may hear us."

The two managers just stood there in shock. This woman knew of the Phantom, and for some reason did not want him to know her name.

"Since you have mentioned it, what is your name?" Monsieur Firman asked to break the silence.

"My name is Lady Catherine De Changy, and yes Raoul De Changy, your former patron, is a relation to me, my brother. Now you can understand why I didn't wish to state my name back in your office, and why I know of the Phantom. Now that we have covered that, let's head to the bank as I have other, rather pressing, issues."

Firman and Andre were in so much shock, at what she had just told them that they just nodded and once again found themselves following her like sheep, as she headed to the bank.

The transaction went off without a hitch, and they were back in the entrance hall sooner than she could have hoped. Monsieur Andre was the one to ask, "What is it that you wish to be called while you are here?"

Catherine gave him a look, like she was almost proud of him for thinking of that without any prompting. "You have brought up an excellent point, so as long as I am in this Opera House, you may call me Lady Catherine De Montressor. It is a title that I inherited from my mother."

The two managers just nodded, rather unsettled by her abrupt manner. "Good day to you, gentleman." She turned to leave, but Firman stopped her.

"When are you going to make the announcement?"

Catherine looked back toward them, "Call all the staff to the stage an hour or so before tonight's performance, I shall tell them there."

The two just nodded (they do alot of that), as she walked back toward her room. She arrived to find the room empty. She stood frozen to the spot, as terror swept through her. She noticed a note on the dresser.

_Catherine,_

_Philippe woke up a few moments after you left, and started crying so I took him to the kitchen. Hopefully, a good meal will get his mind off things. Please don't be too worried, we'll be back soon._

_-Madame Giry_

Catherine sighed in relief. She should have known that it was only something like that. In the mean time, she would go back to her sketch while she waited for them to come back. She picked up the sketch, but her eyes refused to focus on it, instead her mind conjured up a picture she had once drawn with the help of a friend.

**:Flashback:**

Catherine sat in the parlor, staring out the window, waiting for the carriage to pull out of the drive. As soon as she did she pulled out the large sketch she had started on yesterday. Christine joined her shortly afterwords.

"It's very beautiful, you've captured it perfectly."

Catherine laughed, "That's only because I've had your help. You're descriptions of the place are wonderful."

Christine smiled at her, and once again began to describe that palace of dim night to her friend, and sister(-in-law).

**:End Flashback:**

Catherine had always enjoyed trying to capture the beauty of the world around her but had never been very successful at doing so. That drawing had been the one exception. Christine loved it but always begged her not to show it to Raoul. She had kept her promise, and now due to that fire, it was guaranteed that it would never be seen again.

She sighed, that had been years ago, before Philippe was born, and before the fire. Christine had been her best friend. She shook her head. It did not do to dwell on the past. It had become a motto for her since the fire, or at least one that she had tried to adopt.

Madame Giry entered to room with little Philippe at that moment, bringing her out of her reverie. She stood and nearly floated over to them, holding out her arms to take Philippe. Madame Giry flashed her a small rather sad smile. Catherine looked at her. "Shouldn't you be preparing for tonight's performance?"

"I may as well, after all it will be the last."

Madame Giry left the room, looking almost ready to cry. Catherine looked at Philippe. "Did you have fun with Madame Giry?" The little boy nodded. "Would you like for us to stay here?"

"Oh yes, may we please stay Auntie?" She smiled, glad that at least for the moment he had forgotten the events of earlier that afternoon.

"Yes, we can, but I'll need you to stay in here by yourself for a while tonight." She hated leaving him alone, but it couldn't be avoided, and it probably wouldn't take too long for her to make the announcement.

Philippe looked at her, rather scared. "Alone?"

That one word, almost made her want to tell the managers to make the announcement themselves, but she knew she needed to at least be present. She cast about in her mind for something that would comfort the child. Remembering something Christine had once told her, she looked at him and smiled. "You're never really alone. The angel of music is always there, and if you sit very quietly you can hear his music."

She had never heard the music herself, but Christine had insisted that it existed. Philippe stared at her and nodded, looking mystified. She smiled at him glad that he had finally calmed, and looked almost happy.

His next question caught her off guard, "Where are you going?" She turned toward him, unsure of how to answer, finally she replied.

"I'm going to an announcement. I would bring you with me, but it's for grown-ups only." She knew he wouldn't understand everything she had said, but she also knew that he had heard 'for grown-ups only' often enough that he understood there was no room for argument. He sighed.

"How much longer, until I get to be a grown-up?" She laughed outright at this.

"A year, at the very least." He flopped down on the bed. She gave him a smile, and then preceded to fix her hair and makeup, so that she could be ready. Time seemed to fly by, soon she was walking out of the room toward the auditorium, leaving Philippe starring after her.

**-(End Chapter)-**

**ElvenStar5: We'll see, I might keep Carlotta. I understand what you're saying perfectly. Thanks for the review.**

**Flare Conlon: Of course they will! I came right out and said that this would be EOW. Kill Erik! NEVER! If you look, I made a reference to him in chapter 2. It's in the part where it kinda from Madame Giry's POV. He's actually mentioned by title in this chapter though. Thanks again for the review.**

**Author's Note: I'm back! I passed all my finals, which means I'll be able to update. Yay! I don't know when the next update will be, but hopefully it's not too far away. Please R&R. Flames are accepted, just explain why. A half-mask cookie for anybody who reviews, even if it's a flame, but then I'll probably give you a burnt cookie.**


	5. An Announcement Reposted

******Author's note: I know, I know. This update probably should have come sooner, but I hit a little writer's block. Ok, make that a lot of writer's block, but I'm passed it now. Thank god. Here's your next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I own them all! They are all mine. Muahahaha! punjab lasso encircles my throat**

**Erik's voice: What was that?**

**Ok, ok. I don't ownany of the original characters!Happy now?**

**punjab lasso loosens**

**Erik's voice: Yes.**

**Gee thanks.**

Suddenly the room darkened dramatically. A letter floated down from the nonexistent ceiling and fluttered onto the floor.

Omg...

**Erik's voice: Wow... what a biter.**

**The author, pale in the face picks up the letter. It was sealed in hot pink wax with a seal that resembled either a fish or hello kitty.**

**The letter read:  
_My dearest Squeakiness,  
It is to my great pleasure to see you come to me for help. I hope we'll be of much use to eachother. You will read the corrections I made to your fic, you will fix them, and you will proceed to post this and start immediately with the next chapter. Or else... _**

_**Y. B.**_

**What is Y.B? Oh that's right... Your Beta.**

**Erik's voice in distance-mutter mutter- biters -mutter mutter- should copyright -mutter mutter-**

**Oh dear.**

(Hello all, this is Jazzy, I'm the newest beta. YAY! My darlin Caitlin DOES have talent n'est-ce pas? . Well I shall make her even BETTER! Muahahah! cracks whip)  
-

As the door clicked behind her, a sudden sense of finality seemed to hang in the air. Catherine shivered as a draft flooded the hall. She turned back to the room ready to reenter, but something stopped her. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she swept down the hall preparing herself for the upcoming announcement.

She soon found herself at the entrance. Turning, she quickly located the marked entrance to the main stage. Without pausing, she turned down the hallway and gasped inwardly. The breathtaking beauty of the theater filled her vision. She stopped to stare at the vivid crimson of the curtains, and the glowing gold statues. They were dazzling, almost dizzying in their splendor.

The majority of the cast were mulling about, clearly anxious for what was to come. Catherine waited in the shadows, observing those who would soon be _her _employees. She saw a young dancer in the corner fidgeted silently and some of the elder singers conversed in hushed tones. It was clear they were nervous

A piercing voice shattered the near calm atmosphere.

"What pos'ible reason could those fool managers have for wasting our time before ze' performance" She was a singer, whom she instantly recognized to be the La Carlotta from her conversations with Christine. The woman swept through the performers, nearly running over the ones that didn't move quickly enough.

Catherine shook her head in disgust. Carlotta's arrogance reminded her of her loathsome brother. The world seemed to be filled with people like this.

A moment later, Messuirs Andre and Firman bustled in. Carefully deciding her entrance, Catherine slipped out of the shadows, but chose to stay at the back of the group and continue to observe.

"What es ze' meaning of this?" La Carlotta was unsurprisingly the first to speak.

Catherine chose that as her cue and emerged from the crowd. There was something about her, perhaps her graceful movements that revealed her noble heritage, that always drew attention when needed. People's gaze turned and focused on her.

"I'm sorry if this meeting is an inconvenience to you," She began. It was obvious, though not blatant that she was speaking indirectly to Carlotta. "But rather than scream at those good gentlemen, I suggest that you speak, speak not scream, to me, seeing as that I was the one to call this meeting."

Her voice was calm, but it carried the full length of the theater. Everyone stared at her now. La Carlotta seemed as though she was puffing up like a volcano about to blow, and the poor managers looked as if they were about to faint at that notion.

Catherine allowed her eyes to stray momentarily at Carlotta and was sorely tempted to laugh. Nothing had ever resembled a chicken more. She regained her composed self and addressed the theatre.

"I truly am sorry if this meeting has conflicted with prior plans for anyone here, but I have called this meeting to discuss a rather important matter. I, Lady Catherine de Montressor, have purchased this fine establishment from your good managers." The silence which met her words was stifling.

Madame Giry was staring at her with wide eyes, clearly not expecting this. Monsieur Andre wiped his forehead and Firman sighed, they both looked relieved that she had saved them the trouble of exposing this matter. With a wry smile, she turned to muse at Carlotta, sure that the look on her face would be priceless.

And it was. La Carlotta looked incredulous, her mouth opened and closed about three times before she found the mind to shut them. Catherine sighed, attempting to stifle a giggle.

Such reaction was to be expected.

Monsieur Andre's voice brought everyone out of the suffocating atmosphere.

"Would everyone please give a hand to the new owner? She will be taking over as manager in the next couple of weeks." The cast turned to looked at him, some glaring daggers and some like he had two heads. Meg and a few others started to clap, but stopped abruptly due to the lack of it.

Catherine grimaced a bit to herself then steadied her will. This had to be done.

La Carlotta, seeing this as an opportunity to suck up and make amends, broke the silence by asking, "You 'ave seen an Opera before. Si? Will you be attending ze' opera tonight?"

_Bad call, Carlotta. _Catherine chuckled to herself. Obviously this women was not one of honey words. More so the lack of.

"Desole," She replied in the negative, shocking not only Carlotta, but majority of the theatre, "but I have other things which I must do."

"Besides," She mused at the fury mounting on Carlotta's face and continued, "I did not buy a ticket."

Her last comment brought a few chuckles. La Carlotta shrunk back, looking snubbed. Catherine saw her face darken, and decided to relieve the situation before La Carlotta threw one of her infamous tantrums.

"I do apologize." She started, deciding that she could do without too much conflict. "There is nothing that I would like more than to see all of you perform-"

"'Zen why do you not go?" La Carlotta cut in. "Et would be good for you to see an opera at 'zis 'ouse if you wish to do well as a manager."

That was a direct attack. Catherine prepared herself to retaliate, but before she had the chance to respond, a letter drifted toward the stage. A deathly hush fell over the cast. Slowly, the letter glided in the air, turning this way and that. Finally it slid to a stop at Catherine's feet, landing with a quiet thud that couldn't be heard if the theatre was not in total silence.

For moments, the whole theatre stood staring at the letter like a cursed object. Catherine felt their eyes burning on her, daring her as the new manager to bend down and pick it up. She did so, trying desparately to suppress the fear in her spine and shake in her hand.

The envelope was edged in black, and was sealed with blood red wax in the form of a grinning skull.

Catherine sighed, a little pale, and tried to joke. "This is lovely stationary."

No laughs followed this time. All eyes were on the letter in her hand.

Carefully lifting the seal, Catherine pulled a letter from within. She started to scan it and shivered slightly after reading its content. After a few moments, the others began to loose patience.

"Well what does 'zit say?" La Carlotta's usually shrieking voice held a slight tremble.

"It says:

_Dear Mademoiselle Catherine,_

_I would like to welcome you to my opera house. I hope that you will not be as foolish as Messuirs Andre and Firman were upon their arrival. I expect my salary of 20,000 francs to be paid by the first of each month, and I also expect Box Five to be left open for me for all performances. If you comply, we should all be able exist quite harmoniously, and if not, then only you may be held accountable for the consequences, which I assure you will be dire. On a lighter note, I hope you will enjoy you stay here. If I am need of anything else, I will contact you by post._

_Respectfully yours,_

_O.G."_

Immediately, voices returned to the hushed theatre. Some of the ballet rats began to whisper among themselves. Everyone else was watching her intently, she realized, waiting for a reaction.

Madame Giry, still visibly pale, cleared her voice and was the first to speak out loud, "I would do what he says. He is not very forgiving to those who do not obey his commands."

There were nods and tones of assent rising from the crowd.

Catherine nodded, "I have every intention of paying his salary, and of leaving his box open to him. I may have just purchased this opera house, but he has been here for years, and if I do not need to upset a patron of this house, then I will not."

Those who had been holding their breath for a response relaxed, glad that she was sensible enough to comply.

"Well, I guess I had better let all of you get ready for your show, shall I?" Catherine smiled. "I will attend rehearsals tomorrow, but if any of you need to reach me, ask Madame Giry to show you to my room. Now if you'll excuse me?"

As she turned to leave, a young and rather chipper girl approached her, her face hopeful.

"Are you staying at the opera, Madamoselle?"

Catherine replaced her giggle with a homely smile and nodded. Then she turned back around quickly and left, eager to escape the group and get back to Philippe. The meeting had taken longer than she expected, and she hated leaving him alone.

Retracing her steps, she soon found herself at the door of her room. When she entered, Philippe launched himself at her, all the while babbling excitedly. She held him in her arms, hoping to calm him, but he continued on excitedly.

"Phillippe!" She scolded softly, "Speak slowly, dear."

It was only then was she able to make some sense of his words. It took a bit for her to digest and a bit more for her embrace the reality of it. When she did, it stopped her cold.

"You were right!" He said, "I heard him, the Angel of Music. It was really really quiet, but I could hear him, and he was singing my lullaby!" There was pure joy in his face.

Catherine smiled motherly as she stroke the boy's face, not allowing herself to betray the brewing storm in her as she felt a small shiver creep up her spine.-

_**Review Responses:**_

_**jadedrose01: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you find this interesting. Sorry the update is a little late. We'll get to Erik's response, eventually.**_

_**PotOFan: I'm glad you like this. Here's the update. No face to face meetings with Erik yet.**_

_**Countess Alana: Thank you for your compliments. blushes**_

_**elvenstar5: Thanks. You're right. It will happen. It's just a matter of when. Here's an update.**_

_**andersm: Here's an update. I hope the wait wasn't too hard.**_

_**Darkaus: Thanks, I plan to keep going. I'm sure that Erik will have several choice for him, and I highly doubt any of them will be God Bless. As for how sad can Raoul get? Who knows, but if he gets too much worse I may be forced to knock him out.**_

_**Author's Note: Another update come and gone. I'm really liking this story. This was my first time trying to write Carlotta, so if I screwed up her accent feel free to lynch me. Please RR. Your reviews keep me writing, cus' when I get a review. I feel guilty if I haven't at least started writing the next chap, so the more reviews I get, the fast I update. Just push the little blue/purple(periwinkle?) button. You know you want to.**_

_**Beta's Note: Yes, people, REVIEW! It makes me feel better too. - Since I'm not a hardcore phan I can't really help with specifics. Give her constructive criticism ya? Every good fanfic writer needs a bushel of those. Thank you very much. - Miikirin (aka Jazzy)**_


	6. A New View of Things

**Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue.**

**Erik: Your grammar is deplorable.**

**Alanna-Of-Olau: Tis true. Thank goodness for Betas.**

**Beta Note: To my dearest squeakiness and all her fans,  
Hope my additions and editing can bring a flow of tears to your respective eyes. It has been a long wait, but I hope it was more than worth it. For the time being, I remain,**

**your faithful beta.  
Jazzy (Miikirin)  
**

**Author's Note: (Ducks flying rotten vegetables) I'm sorry! I never meant to go so long without posting I swear it will NEVER happen again. At least I have a longer chapter for you, much thanks to Jazzy my Beta, and for the first time this story... ERIK'S POV**

Chapter 6

I now read the obituaries on a daily basis, although I do not know why. Perhaps it is due to the fact that I myself have been the cause of so many deaths that it has driven into me a morbid fascination, leading me to tally it, though it really doesn't matter. That was how I took the paper that day, as I did every day. I'd take a quick trip above ground to the nearby newsstand. The man that worked there had long learned long not to question to my masked face. I would then give him 5 francs, though the paper only cost 2, a small price to pay for his silence.

As any other day, I had swept down to my lair, busying myself with my own thoughts. The grey world behind me slowly stretched to life, and I left it without a second glance. I had taken a seat at my organ, opening the paper rather than my music, quickly turning to the back where the obituaries were located. I scanned the pages, briefly registering the name that appeared to be of no meaning to me. I hadn't expected this, but a single name caught my eye; printed three fourths down on the page in front of me was the name of the siren whose voice had captured me years ago, the one who had held my heart and still holds it now, even in death. Only now her name was decorated with a train of titles she had gained when she had married. The Countess Christine de Chagny. Dead from a fire at the estate. Two days ago.

Had it really been two days? I had always thought my soul to be chained with hers, to feel pain and happiness with the rise and fall of her chest. Yet she had been dead for two days without my knowledge. I remembered devastation with the utter sinking of heart as my world momentarily blurred and stung. Anguish gripped my chest tightly as a voice rammed acrid words into my mind: _you let her go. You let her go._ As if my knowledge could've saved her.

Guilt and despair dominated my world for the following days. I simply existed from corridor to corridor, wing to wing, wandering the passages that I knew better than I knew myself. My body and soul had built a compact wall around myself, numbing all feelings to the outside world. Days, weeks or months might have passed, for who can tell down here in the darkness. It was the news that tore down my walls and ripped apart my curtain, and I must admit that it indeed did surprise me. I heard news that those two fools, the managers of my Opera House, were declaring bankruptcy and planned to draw the curtains on my theatre, for good. I panicked, for I knew that I could not survive were that to occur. The Opera House was my home; it was the last thing that kept me attached to the physical world and grounded my senses.

Another wave of guilt and dread washed over me. I had to admit to myself that I truly did have a knack for destroying everything and everyone around me, save for music. Due to my actions of earlier years, patrons found the Opera House to be bad investment; consequentially, the Opera Populaire was now in dire need of funds. I've heard the managers discussing the closing in their office and found that my home would only have one more week before the curtain would draw on the opera forever.

If I had been in a state of utter devastation before, this news brought it to an impossible magnitude. However, I soon realized that I was the only one privy to this information, for I had noticed no change in the attitudes of the ballet rats, the orchestra or the stagehands. As dawn arrived on that final day, for the first time since Christine's passing, I went to box five to watch the last of the practices, willing to hear even Carlotta's soul tearing shrill so that I could hear the music played one last time before the final performance.

As I had expected, the managers came in to stop the practice to make the announcement. Most of the reactions of those present were expected, yet it didn't take me long to realize Madame Giry was absent. I was surprised, for it was most unusual for Madame Giry to miss a practice. At the corner of my eye I noticed Meg Giry nearly sprinting down a side isle, although the others didn't seem to see. Deciding that I had seen enough of the bedlam on the stage, I followed her, hoping to learn the reason as to why Madame Giry had not been in attendance.

I contented myself to watching from a shadowed window as Meg sped past the doors at the end of the entrance hall. Lo and behold, there stood Madame Giry, just outside the wailing room with a strange woman holding a rather young child. From this distance, I was unable to hear what was being said, yet I assumed Meg to have already informed Madame Giry of the latest tragedy; that women appeared to be near hysterics. After a several moments of conversation, the woman carefully set the young boy down next to the heavy doors, and walked proudly into the Opera House.

The woman returned quite quickly, much to my surprise. I assumed all to be well, should that ever be the case again, and was about to take leave when a scream stopped me cold. The noise seemed to have originated from a woman who was screaming at the top of her lungs; it was a voice so shattering that one might have mistaken it for Carlotta's singing. I looked out the window once again and saw no great catastrophe that could have caused such a response; instead, I saw that the woman who had been there with Madame Giry run and shield the child, all the while screaming hysterically at the other woman, who in turn promptly fled. With all that settled, the woman, the child and the Girys rushed into the Opera House, leaving the street looking no different than before.

I had honestly tried to relax before the performance, but had instead found myself filled with an unquenchable burst of restlessness, so demanding that it drove me to my feet and eventually, to the upper passages of the Opera House. As I cruised through the walkways, I heard the usual sounds of anticipation before a show and realized how it had changed. The ballet rats sobbed instead of twittered and the stagehands were drunker than usual, had it been possible. Everyone seemed to know it was the last time. Out of sheer sentimentality, I decided to seek out Madame Giry to thank her for her help throughout the years, it seemed only appropriate. Swiftly, I scoured the dormitories for her and found her preparing to knock on the door to a room that was, as far as I knew, unoccupied. Before I could say a word the door was pulled open, and a young woman stepped outside to speak with Madame Giry.

I was surprised that I did not recognize this girl, but I quickly surmised that she had been the one standing outside with the Girys earlier. Madame Giry asked in a hushed voice whether someone, whom I assumed to be the boy, was asleep and the woman replied in the affirmative. Then Madame Giry stepped inside, and the woman thanked her before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Curiosity gripped me, and so I decided to follow the girl. Madame Giry would have to wait for later.

She walked briskly down the hallway and I followed not far behind through my own passages. She stopped momentarily when she reached those idiots of managers and swept pass them with little acknowledgement, skipping over pleasantries. Andre and Firman quickly turned to follow her, trailing after her as they so often did with Carlotta.

I stood there waiting, puzzled with this woman's purpose here. Judging by the reactions of those around her, she seemed to be a relatively important character. Luckily I didn't have to wait long before the gentlemen followed her back inside looking quite ruffled and bewildered. From their conversation I soon learned her name, Lady Catherine de Montressor, the one who had just purchased the Opera House.

I smiled despite myself; it was perhaps the first genuine smile I had since I had learned of Christine's death. With a livelier gait, I strode down to my home to compose a letter of welcome, as was only fitting. An hour before performance found me standing on the catwalks awaiting her arrival nearly as anxious as some of the staff. Although, unlike them, I knew what it was that we were waiting for.

I had almost missed her quiet appearance as she descended from the back. She stood quietly observing while other chattered on unaware. I felt a sense of admiration for the girl; perhaps she would not be as incompetent as our current managers.

A screech from La Carlotta interrupted my musings and I was sorely tempted to see another _accident_ take place on stage, one that involved a lot of frills and lace and something extremely large and heavy. It would not have been difficult, however, I decided to wait and try the competence of our new little manager.

"I'm sorry if this meeting is an inconvenience to you," She began, the scathingly politeness in her voice made it quite obvious, though not blatant, that she was addressing Carlotta indirectly. "But rather than scream at those good gentlemen, I suggest that you speak, speak not scream, to me, seeing as that I was the one to call this meeting."

Laughter choked in my throat I saw Carlotta turn several different shades of crimson, puffing up like the overgrown toad she is. That is, at least until Lady Montressor quietly acknowledged herselfto be the new owner of L'Opera Populaire. Carlotta deflated at the news so quickly that she appeared about to faint. The staff did not react well at all to the news of her position, especially when she declared her absence for tonight's performance. When Carlotta tried to launch a direct attack, I decided that I had seen enough and that it was time to make my presence known. As my letter fluttered ominously to the floor, a rush of silence settled throughout the crown. Dimly, I saw Madame Giry's head snap up, looking up searchingly but unable to find me through the darkness.

The girl was trembling, though almost imperceptibly, as she bent down to pick up my letter. I silently applauded her courage as she tried to make light of the situation. In the rush of whispers that followed the reading of my letter, Madame Giry cleverly advised her to comply. Without hesitation, she replied that she would comply with all of my requirements. This was, of course, a great surprise to myself for it usually took many many trials and errors on the owner's behalf before they learned to comply. After the distraught I had been in since Christine's death, I had begun to feel a slight repulsion at the thought of doing harm to others and was grateful that I would not be pressed to do so. With this thought, I found myself making a silent promise not to make too much trouble for this woman if she would continue to be so agreeable.

I left before the rest of the cast could make an uproar, the relief that now weighted on me was intensely comfortable. It wasn't long as I walked through the passages that I realized I had begun to sing. I had not sang since the day Christineleft the Opera House, but the stable mellowness that the recent events had settled upon me pushed itself out, and I realized that in the midst of the content was hope, something I had thought long dead.

**Author's Note: Please leave reviews, as they help remind me to work on the updates. Cookies to all my readers for being so patient and cupcakes for my reviewers. Till next time...**


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